Tough love
by writtenweapons
Summary: "Juice watched Chibs pace back and forth like a caged animal, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his cold hands. Chibs was right, he'd just replaced the chain with the bottle and changed the scenery. A second chance to finish what he failed to do last time." When Juice won't stop destroying himself, Chibs has a way of making Juice listen. ChibsxJuice


Unstable. Unsound. Unscrewed. Juice could think of a multitude of other words that began with the same two letters that perfectly described his mental state at the moment. Xanax, Valium, Ambien. They dulled the ache, sure. But he was still scared shitless the rest would find out the truth about Miles and how this clusterfuck all started. So far, Chibs was the only one who knew, and while he trusted him, he still couldn't shake the feeling he was living on borrowed time. The truth always had a way of coming out.

Juice's knuckles whitened around his bottle of beer. He took a swig, then another one, and another. He tried to focus on the party, thrown in honor of another successful run for – fuck if he knew. He hadn't been exactly involved in club business the past few days. He couldn't find the energy to concentrate. All he wanted to do was get especially fucked up, and tonight was the perfect night to do just that. The clubhouse was a blur of half-naked bodies, booze, smoke, and loud music.

He'd taken refuge at the bar, nursing beer after beer, smiling behind clenched teeth every time one of his brothers clapped him on the shoulders. He made awkward conversation, answering every question about his absentmindedness with a nonchalant 'I'm just tired', which wasn't too far from the truth anyways.

In his peripheral vision, someone sat down next to him, the familiar smell of Scotch and leather filling his nose. Chibs, of course. Fucker had been watching him like hawk ever since the night of his attempted suicide. Juice flicked his still burning cigarette on the ground, grinding the cherry out with the sole of his boot, ready to skulk off somewhere. No such luck. An arm around his shoulders, a gentle but stern suggestion for him to sit the fuck back down.

"You ain't getting away that easily, Juice." Chibs said, inaudible to anyone else but Juice over the loud music. Not that Juice thought anyone was watching, everyone was too busy drinking themselves into a regrettable morning after.

"Figured as much." Juice answered, reaching blindly behind him to grab another beer and popping the cap off with the end of a lighter. Self-destruction was the goal tonight. He was aware of the other man's stare burning an imaginary hole into the side of his head, but kept his eyes on his lap.

"You're slippin', lad. They're not suspicious yet, but they sure as fuck will be if you keep this shite up." Chibs was getting tired of talking to someone who wouldn't look at him. He took Juice's chin between his fingers, forcing Juice to look at him, leaving red marks of frustration on his skin. Juice looked away, focusing on a cigarette butt on the bar. Anything to keep him from looking Chibs in the eyes. For some reason, he couldn't.

Chibs sighed and let go of the other man's chin. He pressed his thumb and index finger into the bridge of his nose instead. Juice could be infuriating sometimes (most of the time), but he loved the kid. Juice was his Achilles heel, ever since he was a prospect, as fucking clichéd as that sounded. Chibs watched him, his eyes straying to the bruise on his neck.

Juice was quiet, fidgeting with the label of his beer bottle, trying not to spill his guts. He wanted to talk, but he didn't actually want to talk. He couldn't put into words what was bothering him and he was afraid that if he started talking it'd come out jumbled and confused. So he said nothing. They sat there in silence for a while, until Chibs' arm slipped off his shoulder, and the man stood up. Juice _almost_ felt guilty for the relief that washed over him.

"If you want to talk, you know where to find me." Chibs squeezed Juice's shoulder. "Jus' don't expect me to be at your side when you're gettin' your stomach pumped."

More silence. More nervous fiddling with the stupid label. Finally, Juice rolled his shoulders in what could be conceived as a half-assed shrug, effectively brushing off Chibs' hand. Misery did not love company this time.

Chibs waited for something, anything less apathetic. He'd take being told to fuck off over this painful silence any day, but nothing followed. He gave up. The kid obviously didn't want to talk. It seemed like the presence of narcotics was much preferred over his own, anyways.

Juice watched Chibs weave through the crowd from behind his lashes, chewing the inside of his cheek to shreds, ignoring the urge to grab Chibs's arm and pull him back.

* * *

Seven beers and five generous shots of vodka later, the party had died down and Juice was ten shades of fucked up. He wanted to sleep, but he knew he'd only wake up screaming again. Maybe he'd pull an all-nighter. Maybe he'd give in and sleep here. Whatever he did, he'd be fucked up the next morning anyways. He took his bottle of vodka, stuffing it in the pocket of his hoodie, stumbling up the stairs to the roof. He'd decide what he'd do there. He always liked the peace and quiet up there.

He hadn't been aware of Chibs watching him from across the room, but he wasn't surprised when the roof door opened just seconds after he'd closed it behind him. Juice lifted his hand in a silent greeting, taking a swig of his vodka.

"You need to stop destroying yourself like this, Juice." Chibs sounded exhausted, and for a second, Juice felt sorry for him.

Juice felt the other man sit down next to him, arm brushing against arm. He moved, pulling his knees to his chest like he used to do when he was younger in an attempt to make himself invisible. He knew Chibs was right, he wasn't so fucked up yet he didn't recognize the truth, but that didn't stop him from taking whatever he could to numb the pain.

"I know." He answered, swallowing another mouthful of vodka along with a hundred excuses despite his claim. Chibs apparently wasn't amused, because the bottle was torn from his hands. Juice heard it break on the concrete below them.

"Jesus, Juice." Juice cringed at how disappointed Chibs sounded. For some reason, disappointment was worse than anger. Especially from Chibs. "For fuck's sake, _look at me_."

When Juice finally did, Chibs' face softened, enough to relax his jaw and ease his frown. Sometimes, he considered leaving the little shit to his own devices, make him learn from his mistakes – but then Chibs was sure he'd do something stupid like wrap that goddamn chain around his neck again and he'd renew his vows to look after him.

"You're still not goin' to talk." Even though it was more of a statement than a question, Chibs waited for an answer. Juice shook his head.

They sat in silence for a while, with Juice watching the other man from the corners of his eyes and Chibs crushing his cigarette out on the roofing.

Juice reminisced. Chibs had always been the one person to stand up for him, no matter what stupid shit he pulled, even back when he was a prospect. He'd slept on his couch more often than he'd liked to admit, and he'd lost count of the late-night drinks they'd shared after everyone else had already gone home, just shooting the shit. Something about the fact that Chibs always looked after his dumb ass made his heart flutter, even when he'd desensitized himself with each and every narcotic that was available to him.

Chibs was the one to break the silence. "I'll talk."

"Fine."

If looks could kill, Juice would be six feet under by now. "Fine? No, it's fuckin' not. Stop killin' yourself like this, Juice. I can't watch you like this. You don't talk, you don't smile, you don't fuckin' care."

Juice watched Chibs pace back and forth like a caged animal, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his cold hands. Chibs was right, he'd just replaced the chain with the bottle and changed the scenery. A second chance to finish what he failed to do last time.

Chibs paused mid-step after watching Juice for a while, disappointed at the lack of a reaction. He crouched down, placing a hand on Juice's shoulder. "Shite, Juice. Stop doin' this to yourself. Club needs you, lad."

Juice barked out a humorless laugh, angry both at himself and at Chibs for caring so damn much. He had a habit of taking his anger out on the ones he cared about the most, and naturally, it was Chibs' turn.

"Club'd kill me if they found out the truth and you know it." He snagged the cigarette out of Chibs' fingers, taking a drag. "Brotherhood doesn't mean shit to me anymore, Chibs. You know what it's like waking up screaming five times a night? To repeat a thousand fucking what-ifs in your head every time you feel yourself slipping?"

"Juice – "

"No, you wanted me to talk, right? I'll talk. Ever since I joined this club, my life has turned to _shit_." Juice inhaled the last of the cigarette, smashing it out on the roof. "His blood is on my hands, Chibs. I killed him to save my own sorry ass. So don't talk shit about how the club needs me."

That shut Chibs up. Juice watched him stand up, challenging him to say something with a defiant stare. He didn't. Chibs just looked at him. He was pissed, judging by his clenched jaw and tense shoulders. Maybe he just needed Chibs to punch him. He'd deserved it.

Juice got on his feet as well. "I'm going to bed. Leave me the fuck alone."

Chibs watched him leave, seething when Juice purposely brushed past him on the way out. He really regretted throwing that bottle of vodka over the edge, because he could really use a fucking drink right now.

* * *

Juice leaned back against the door of his room for a few seconds after closing it, closing his eyes. His heart pounded everywhere in his body at once, his anger manifesting itself into a headache he wasn't going to be able to solve with just Tylenol.

_Fuck._ Maybe he should go back and apologize.

No. He should just go to sleep and pretend nothing happened in the morning, because that's how Juice solved all of his problems. But he knew Chibs wouldn't leave it at that, he wasn't a doormat and he certainly wouldn't take this shit from Juice of all people. He'd either get his ass kicked, or lose the only friendship he really had in this club. He preferred the first possibility over the last.

He'd worry about it tomorrow. Juice stepped away from the door, pulling his hoodie over his head and tossing it into a corner. That's when he heard footsteps coming down the hall, fast and angry. There was no mistaking whose gait it was.

_Shit._

The door opened. In a flurry of limbs, Juice was pressed against the wall, staring straight in the face of one pissed of Scotsman. With Chibs' arm braced over his chest, and one hand clamped around his arm, there was no way Juice was going to be able to walk off now. For a moment they just stared at each other. Juice prepared himself to add more bruises to his rapidly growing collection.

And then Chibs spoke, low and gravelly, more a growl than anything else.

"I should beat the shit out of you."

Juice remembered the last time he did and cringed. Chibs' fingers dug painfully into Juice's arm, leaving half-moon imprints of his nails in his skin. Juice recoiled, tried to disappear into the wall. The result was the threat of a knee against his crotch. If he had any delusions about going anywhere, they were crushed at that moment. The message Chibs was trying to send was loud and clear: do _not_ fuck with me right now.

"Then fucking do it, I deserve it. Just get it over with." Juice's attempt at some sort of fucked up peace offering was met with an incredulous laugh. Chibs loosened his stranglehold, his knee dropping again. Juice breathed a sigh of relief for his testicles.

"Shite, you don't get it, do you? You're a fuckin' idiot, Juice."

Juice looked as confused as he felt. "Get what?"

Chibs leaned in, all too close for comfort. Juice was about to spout some bullshit about personal space, because a punch would be better than this. He half-expected the other man to spit him in the face to add insult to not yet inflicted injury. And then Chibs closed the distance between them and kissed him. Not a brotherly kiss either. Juice involuntarily closed his eyes, almost just as involuntarily parting his lips. With Chibs' hands dropping down, squeezing his hips, his stomach did a little flip-flop he didn't know it was capable of.

It was over before he knew it. His lips felt naked all of a sudden. Chibs still hadn't released him, but now Juice knew he wasn't going to get beaten to a bloody pulp he could relax somewhat. _Somewhat_ being the keyword, because his stomach had worked itself in a knot at the way Chibs' stubble scratched against his cheek, the way his body was pressed against his own.

And then suddenly the wind was knocked out of him. Chibs had finally punched him. Juice slid down the wall, curling into the fetal position, groaning into his knees. Tough love was a concept he was very familiar with. He didn't know why he thought it would be different this time.

"Get _that_." Chibs' disembodied voice sounded somewhere above him, but Juice didn't dare to open his eyes. He saw stars, and not in the good way. He felt more than saw Chibs crouch down beside him. "You'll be alrigh'."

If Juice hadn't been gasping for air and trying to suppress the urge to vomit at the same time, he might have laughed. "Like fuck I will," He made an attempt to sit up, taking deep breaths and propping himself up against the wall like a ragdoll.

"You said it yourself, Juice. You deserve it." Chibs reached out, ruffled his mohawk in an almost paternal way. Juice didn't have the energy to swat his hand away. "Sleep it off, lad."

Juice just closed his eyes again, leaning his head back against the wall. There had never been a time in his life where he phrase _spare the rod,_ _spoil the child_ was more appropriate.

Chibs stood up again, the sound of his footsteps close to the door now. "I'll be back to check on you in the mornin'." The knob turned. "If I notice you've been drinkin' again, I won't be as forgivin'."

Juice wanted to protest, tell him he wasn't going to off himself now. But he was tired and honestly, he didn't want a second punch. So, he nodded, whispered a dismissive 'yeah, sure', and stood up, shuffling over to the bed and collapsing, the mattress creaking under his weight.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry when the door was locked from the outside, but for the first time in days he slept like a baby.


End file.
